


Shadows

by PenguinofProse



Series: Fix-it fics for S7 [11]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 7.13 fix it, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bellamy lives, Chess Metaphors, Episode: s07e13 Blood Giant, F/M, Fixing S7, Not really Sheidheda, Sheidheda but different, also actual chess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Written for 100 fics for BLM. S7 fix-it. What if Sheidheda were a more complex villain? What if he decided to save Bellamy and manipulate the situation for his own ends? Angst with a happy ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Fix-it fics for S7 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927285
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VegettoBlue63bellamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegettoBlue63bellamy/gifts).



> Here's another fic for 100 fics for BLM! Come find us on social media or follow the link below if you want to prompt something yourself. Thanks to Jordan for prompting "Sheidheda saves Bellamy to manipulate Clarke" but then saying I could figure out the details - I hope you enjoy the direction I've taken your prompt in! I realise it's probably not what you expected and to be honest it's not what I expected either. If you hate it I guess I'll just have to write you another fic! Huge thanks to Zou as well for betaing it.
> 
> This diverges from canon at the end of 7.13. I've given Sheidheda a very different character because that was the way I could see to make this prompt work - please just embrace that. Frankly everyone I've spoken with seems to agree canon Shady was boring anyway. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: shooting, blood, depression, anxiety. Brief moments of suicidal ideation. This is quite a heavy one in places, in line with what we've seen in canon.

Prompt the fic of your dreams at <https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/>

Malachi has learnt a thing or two, in his career as a tyrant. The most important lesson of all?

A foolish tyrant does not last long.

So that's why he's set on being clever, in this moment. That's why he's thinking through the pieces of this puzzle and trying to figure out what the smart move is.

He knows what these people call him - Sheidheda. The Dark Commander. But personally he prefers something rather more cunning. _Master of the Shadows_ , perhaps. An expert in bringing out the darkness in others, making all the little lambs bleat to his tune. Happiest when viewing the world around him as a large scale game of chess.

The way he sees it, Cadogan is the biggest threat to his power. This Shepherd has an army of sheep - a well-trained army of vicious sheep - while all Clarke or Bellamy or Indra have is some past experience and a talent for winning hearts and minds.

That makes them less threatening, he figures, and also a hell of a lot more useful.

He reaches that conclusion just a little too slowly. By the time he has started formulating a plan, the anomaly is already open, Cadogan has already walked through it, and Clarke is already pointing a pistol right at Bellamy's chest.

That's foolish, Malachi thinks. Has no one ever taught her that lesson, that a tyrant must not be foolish? This must be why she never made it last as the Commander of Death. Surely it is obvious, in this moment, that shooting Bellamy will achieve nothing? That the real threat is the cult leader who just walked into the cloud of green?

Apparently it is not obvious to Clarke. Malachi has seen her work before now - through the flame, through Madi, through the words of Murphy and Indra. He knows she usually does better than this.

Perhaps he ought to show her how it's done.

He's not letting her jeopardise his plans. That's what decides it for him, in the end. He stumbles to his feet, bleeding a little, but more or less still able to move. He bowls into Clarke, knocks her backwards into the cloud of green. She's coming with him, thank you very much. He hears a gunshot ring out, but doesn't stop to notice where the bullet finds a home.

He's got better things to do, a kingdom to preserve.

"What - what are you doing?" Clarke flails in his grasp, evidently confused. "I have to -"

"You have to keep quiet and come with me, _Wanheda_. We're taking out Cadogan." He explains, twisting the pistol out of her grasp.

"We? _We_? You expect me to work with you, now?"

"It's him or me, and you know what they say. _Better the devil you know_." He leers. That's why he's making this move, isn't it? Clarke and her friends are more familiar enemies to him than this stranger dressed in white with his invisible soldiers.

Clarke shakes her head, tearful and frowning. Malachi wonders what's wrong with her, why she's not making the smart move as he knows she has done in the past. The woman who formed that alliance with Lexa would not refuse to work with him, now.

"It won't work. If we kill him, Bardo will retaliate."

"You're wrong." He says, mild and calm, in that voice he knows his enemies find simply chilling. "From what I hear, his First Disciple - and the man he wanted to replace him - are dead. There will be chaos."

"And you'll step into the space." Clarke concludes. Finally, she is catching on.

He simply nods. He knows a thing or two about power vacuums, stepping up in the midst of chaos. That's how he found resurrection and power in Sanctum, is it not?

Now he needs only do the same thing in Bardo, too.

"I won't let you." She protests, even as they are exiting the anomaly. "I won't. You -"

He shuts her up with one well-placed bullet - a bullet aimed at Cadogan's heart, that is.

….

Bellamy's scared.

He's so damn scared.

He's more frightened than he was on Etherea, and that's saying something. His shoulder hurts so damn much, there's blood pouring from the bullet wound, his chest is stuttering with desperate breaths, he's -

He's going to die here.

He's going to bleed out on the floor of this absurd throne room because the closest friend he has ever had in his life just shot him.

It would have been better if she'd got him right in the heart, he decides. It would have been over quicker. He wouldn't have to lie here in agony, terrified, waiting for the shadows to close in on him.

He can't breathe. It hurts too much to breathe.

And there's so much blood. How can all that pour from his body?

Why isn't he dead yet?

"Bellamy. Bellamy, don't worry. You'll live." That's Indra's voice. He recognises it well. And he supposes she's trying to sound comforting, but honestly, it's not working.

He's not sure he wants to live. It sounds easier, in this moment, just to lie back and let the darkness take him.

Indra's face appears.

"Can you hear me, Bellamy?"

He gives a frantic nod. It jostles his wound and makes it hurt all the more.

"You're OK. Here. I'm going to put pressure on your shoulder." She leans in, and it hurts, but it hurts in a different way. "I've sent for help. Just keep breathing."

_You still have hope? We still breathing?_

No. He doesn't want to see his life flashing before his eyes. He doesn't want that, because his life is Clarke and Octavia and Echo and all the other people he has loved who have left him here to die on the cold, hard floor.

"We'll find this funny, one day." Indra says in a voice devoid of humour. "You saved me when I was shot in the shoulder, even though we were on different sides of a war. Now I'm saving you just the same. That'll be a story to tell our children's children."

Damn her. Damn Indra kom Trikru, and damn her innate talent to inspire people to keep on fighting.

There's no way he can die on her now.

….

Clarke feels totally and utterly at a loss.

She hates it. She's not used to feeling out of the loop, to seeing things happen around her without understanding what or how or why. The last time she felt so out of touch with the actions of others was back on Earth, when her friends landed and the fight over Shallow Valley broke out. And look how that ended. So if she's feeling even more out of touch, now, does that mean that the outcome will be even worse?

No. She can't spiral like this. She needs to get a grip.

 _Clarke Griffin doesn't break._ Hah. So much for that.

She needs to decide where to start. She's back in Sanctum, now, dragged back out of the anomaly by Sheidheda almost as quick as she was taken in the first place. He seems to have decided he's calling the shots, and she doesn't like it. She needs to find some way to match him.

She instinctively wants to start by going to see Bellamy, even after everything that has gone so wrong between them in recent days. He's Bellamy, and she shot him, but apparently he's still breathing. She desperately wants to hear that he's OK, even though she was desperate to stop him scarcely half an hour ago.

But the desire to go see him is a silly instinct. It's foolish. A wounded man who has placed himself on the opposite side of a war will not help her clear up this mess. And anyway, she _shot_ him. He's not the man he used to be. Going to see him would achieve nothing.

There's that, and there's the fact she doesn't feel brave enough to try it, right now. She's not sure she can bear to face what she's done.

She starts with Madi. She starts by fetching her from Murphy and Emori's care, and hugging her tight, and resolutely saying nothing at all about what has happened to Bellamy.

"You're safe. You're OK." She mutters frantically into her daughter's hair.

Madi pulls away. "What aren't you telling me, Clarke?" She asks, with that serious expression she has worn far too often of late.

Clarke swallows. "A lot has happened." She hedges. "I can't -"

"Clarke." At that very moment, Echo approaches, a look on her face that says she means business. "We need to talk. What's Sheidheda planning? And what happened with you two and Bellamy?"

"Bellamy - Bellamy was threatening Madi." She struggles over the words, scarcely able to believe they are true.

Madi gasps. Echo just frowns a sad frown.

"He's going to be OK." Echo says, tone level. "I've just spoken to Niylah. Jackson's nearly finished patching him up already."

Clarke nods, relieved. She knows she shouldn't feel relieved that a man who was threatening her daughter is going to live to do it all over again - but it's Bellamy, so she's relieved all the same. And anyway, can he truly threaten Madi now Cadogan is dead?

"And Sheidheda?" Echo prompts.

"He fancies setting himself up in Cadogan's place. He's sent Knight to Etherea with some Wonkru warriors who are faithful to him."

"That's a recipe for disaster." Echo says coldly. "Two groups of people in the same place who live to fight?"

"It's an explosive mix." Clarke agrees. "But I don't know how to stop him. I don't know what to do."

"You do what you've always done. You keep watching and thinking and you figure it out." Echo says bracingly.

Clarke takes a deep breath, processes those words. Echo is right, more or less. She's faced difficult situations before now, hasn't she? And she has figured something out, time and time again.

Perhaps she needed to hear some encouraging words like those. It's not quite what Bellamy would have said, of course. Bellamy would have told her to hold onto hope, to keep breathing, that her best is good enough.

But that Bellamy's dead and gone, even if the man who wears his face will live to fight another day.

She takes another deep breath. Madi is looking at her, not horrified so much as too fascinated by this turn of events - as if she's considering doing something incredibly foolish. Echo is looking at her expectantly, but also with something like encouragement.

"We'll figure this out." Clarke tries. It sounds weak, so she swallows and tries again. "We'll find a way. Echo - see what you can find out from Wonkru about Sheidheda. Take Madi with you. She's not to do anything dangerous, but plenty of them still respect her." She says, firm, making it quite clear that she's serious when she says no harm is to come to her daughter.

They both nod, and Clarke can see that Echo means it with utter conviction. They may not be old friends, but Echo does not do things by halves. If she protects Madi, Madi will be safe.

"I'm going to speak to Indra." Clarke decides. In her experience, Indra is always well worth speaking to.

….

Malachi is pleased with the way things play out over the next few hours. He's aware that the situation probably looks rather chaotic, to anyone less expert in the art of making trouble than he is. But he knows that this is not chaos so much as a chessboard so complex it _appears_ chaotic. He's got Disciples running round like headless chickens without a leader - but they are behaving exactly how he predicted, looking to anyone and everyone for instructions and direction. He's got his faithful Sangedakru off to make a mess in Bardo, and he knows that they feel honoured to be chosen for this role - sending them away will therefore only bind them to him even tighter.

And he's got Clarke and her friends exactly where he wants them - namely, _confused_.

They've been running around a lot, too. From what he hears they're trying to gather intelligence on him, and he wishes them all the luck in the world with that pointless task. They won't learn anything useful. He makes a point of being difficult to pin down. Really, he thinks their only chance of beating him at his own game is to put a bullet in his brain. But he knows that's not Clarke's style, ever since shooting Dante Wallace didn't work for her at Mount Weather. It's amazing what he learnt in the flame. He's got a whole library of information on these people's tactics, while they are only just learning his name.

While Clarke and Indra and the rest are distracted, he goes to see Bellamy. Bellamy is the key to these sky people, he knows, and he holds a surprising degree of influence over the grounders, too. But most of all he is the key to Clarke. He's seen how she has fallen apart since she decided Bellamy is her enemy, now. He's watched her lose her touch. So he figures that turning Bellamy against her once and for all, having him for his own right hand man, is the ultimate way to shore up his power. That's what Cadogan was trying, isn't it?

Bellamy is just waking up from his surgery, when Malachi arrives. The first rays of dawn light are slanting through the windows of his hospital room and if Malachi were the poetic type, he might say it was a pretty sight.

Personally, his taste runs more to thrones of skulls.

"Bellamy. So good to see you looking well." He doesn't look well at all, but flattery is the oldest tactic in the playbook.

Bellamy blinks. "What - why -?"

"What happened? You were shot, Bellamy. By Clarke - so much for that old alliance. She was trying to kill you. Lucky I was there to save your life."

His eyes narrow. "You saved me? Why?"

"Why does anyone do anything? It felt like the right thing to do."

Bellamy frowns. "No. You don't strike me as a man who cares about right and wrong. Or who cares about people."

"I care about myself." Malachi shrugs, unconcerned. "I'm not here to talk ethics, Bellamy. I'm here to propose a deal. Your people - your Disciples - they're tragically without a leader now. What if I were to help put you in Cadogan's place? You'd find me a loyal ally to Bardo." He says, but what he really means, of course, is _you'd find me pulling the strings._

"Why would you do that? What's in it for you?" Bellamy asks, sounding slow and confused. He's not usually slow or confused, as far as Malachi remembers from the flame. But perhaps this shoulder wound or whatever went wrong while he was away has changed a thing or two.

Malachi grins. "Never you mind, Bellamy. Don't be ungrateful. I saved your life and I'm offering you a chance to lead your Disciples towards the light, or whatever it is you people care about. Are you in?"

"I guess so." Bellamy sounds unconvinced, but frankly, Malachi doesn't care. He's not here to make Bellamy happy. He's here to make it clear that he owes him a favour or several, that he's under some obligation to play along in this most deadly of games.

…..

Bellamy feels awful. He feels awful in ways that go far beyond the wound in his shoulder, or even the malnutrition and lingering loneliness of that time on Etherea.

He just doesn't know who he is any more. He's a Disciple of a cause he had never heard of until three months ago. He's the loyal follower of a man now dead, the leader of a bunch of folks he's never met - at least if Sheidheda's scheme to put him in that role goes to plan. He's the brother of a woman who will barely speak to him, possibly still the boyfriend of a woman he told to her face he cares for less than his faith.

And he's the best friend of his attempted murderer.

He feels so damn lonely, too. He's had very few visitors as he lies here in his hospital bed. Jackson and Niylah check up on him often. Miller - sweet, loyal Miller - comes to see him one time with a plate of cookies, and Emori stops by twice. Doucette doesn't come to see him because he's dead. The rest of his friends and family don't come to see him because they hate him, which sucks. _Obviously_ it sucks.

To say he's shocked when Echo visits, four days into his hospital stay, would be an understatement. He's absolutely taken aback. What the hell is she doing here? Is she so loyal that she would stand by him even through this?

"How are you doing?" She asks, tone level.

"I've been better." He tries to joke, but it just comes out sounding sad.

"You're alive, though." She points out, in case he hadn't noticed. To be fair, there are some mornings when he could swear he feels half-dead.

"Yeah. It's good to see you." He risks.

She laughs a hollow laugh. "You know me. Dropping by to see how my fanatical ex-boyfriend is doing." She shakes her head. "I can't just give up on you. It's not in my nature. And the others wanted to know how you were getting on but didn't feel up to coming to see you themselves, so here I am gathering my report."

She says it lightly, but he finds himself swallowing heavily. There's a lot to unpack, there. He starts with the simple things - that she's still loyal, that she took that conversation on Bardo as a breakup. He can't blame her for that.

But then he gets to the more challenging part. _The others_. There are others who care how he's doing.

He clears his throat. "The others?" He prompts.

"Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised if you see Octavia soon. Now Cadogan's gone, your people aren't such an immediate threat, are they? She's calmed down a little. She seems much more relaxed in general since Skyring."

He nods. That's good. He used to love his little sister, and he supposes that even as a Disciple he's allowed to want her to be happy.

"You won't be seeing Clarke though. She's too busy hating herself and pretending she hates you."

That's it. That's the moment he cries. He starts weeping in loud, messy sobs for the first time since she shot him. It's not that he hasn't allowed himself to think about the shooting until now. He's thought about it plenty, lying here, repeating _Clarke shot me_ over and over until it becomes some kind of empty, meaningless mantra. Repetition for the sake of repetition. Words without substance.

But hearing Echo speak about it brings it crashing, real and meaningful, right into his chest with the force of a blow.

Echo's there. She's approaching his bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a cautious hug. He doesn't deserve that, he's pretty sure. This woman held him together in space when he thought he had left Clarke to die and now she's holding him together in Sanctum over Clarke trying to kill him.

He's been pretty unfair to Echo, it occurs to him. She never did deserve for their relationship to revolve so completely around another woman.

"You're OK, Bellamy. There's still hope." She says, more bracing than comforting. "As long as you're both still alive there's still time for forgiveness. You forgave me for trying to kill people you loved so many times. You've forgiven Clarke plenty before, too. I know you can fix this now. She can forgive you for threatening Madi and you can forgive her for trying to kill you."

He nods, keeps sobbing.

"The question is whether you _want_ to." Echo says firmly. "The question is whether you want forgiveness with Clarke more than you want the light of the Shepherd or transcendence or Madi's brain in some awful machine."

He crumples into her shoulder and cries ever harder.

….

Clarke thinks this might have been the worst week of her life, and that's saying something. It's six days now, more or less, since Sheidheda shot Cadogan and still she is no closer to figuring out what to do.

To be fair, he doesn't seem to have killed anyone else yet. And she's sort of puzzled by that, because she understands that murder is kind of his thing. He certainly acted like a man who wanted to cause trouble when he sent a bunch of pugnacious Sangedakru to Bardo. But even in the absence of violence, Clarke has spent the whole week waiting for violence to erupt. She has this feeling of danger hanging over her like the shadow of a panther about to strike.

She's just so sick and tired of feeling scared.

The way she sees it, Sheidheda needs talking down. But he's not a man who can be talked down, as far as she can tell. So she needs some non-violent way of taking out a violent man. And once that's done, she needs to somehow stop these Disciples seeking a last war and transcendence.

Is a quiet life for the human race really so much to ask for?

In the end, it's this feeling of helpless anxiety that forces her to go see Bellamy. It succeeds where her paradoxical concern for his wellbeing has failed. She's not been to see him all this time, because she _shot_ him, and she thinks it's distinctly cheeky to visit the bedside of someone she recently attempted to murder. But he's out of med bay now, and he's a Disciple and a smart guy, so she figures it's time for her to go seek an alliance.

She thinks this might just be the toughest negotiation of her life, compared even with the other difficult conversations she has known. But she figures that getting him and his Disciples on side to bring down Sheidheda could be the first step in a functional plan. And then? Who knows? If she survives that long she'll decide what the hell to do about transcendence.

Bellamy is still staying in Sanctum. Clarke's not sure why, honestly. The explanation Echo gave is that he wants to be here so Jackson can keep an eye on his recovery, but that seems daft. There are doctors on Bardo, with access to better technology than Jackson has here.

But for today, it serves Clarke's purpose, so she simply knocks on the door of Bellamy's quarters and waits to hear him call out in welcome.

He's sitting stiffly on a chair when she enters. He looks uncomfortable, she thinks, teeth gritted against the pain. She hates seeing him like this, no matter whose side he's on.

She swallows. She's not here to feel guilty. He threatened Madi, and betrayed them for his new faith, and that's that.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, gruff.

"I have a proposition for you. I think we should be working together." She suggests.

He huffs out a snorting sort of a noise.

She ignores him and presses on. "It's a good move, Bellamy. We both want peace - even if you want your last war along the way. But we don't want war the way Sheidheda does. We should -"

"You tried to kill me." He interrupts her. "You tried to kill me and now you want us to work together?"

"I did what I thought I had to do at the time." She says carefully. She's practised that line a lot, this week.

"What's that supposed to mean? That you regret it? Or that you wish you'd finished the job?" He bites out.

"I'm pleased you're alive." She admits, raw and honest. "I - I didn't want to, Bellamy. But you were threatening Madi and I couldn't see another way. I was in a bad place and it was like my brain wasn't working right and I couldn't figure out what else to do." She stumbles to a halt, breaks off, tearful, heaves in a shaky breath.

He snorts. "What do you want me to say, Clarke? _I'm sorry you shot me_?" He mocks, hurt and sarcastic.

"No. No, of course not." She swallows. "We can still work together. Just like at the dropship. We disagreed with each other then and we still made it work. We both want -"

"It's not the same." He snaps. "I didn't drop you, Clarke. I wanted the Ark to think you were dead and I still didn't drop you in that pit. But this? You called yourself my best friend and then tried to kill me? You said you'd never forget we were family again."

"You forgot first." She accuses him, because frankly that's easier than acknowledging the truth of his words.

He's silent. He looks awful, she finds herself thinking. Exhausted and sick and pained. What happened to the robust energy of the Bellamy she used to know on Earth?

She shakes her head. She's not here for this. She's here to make an alliance, not fix a friendship which is shredded beyond repair.

"You told me you were still the same guy. You said that, on Bardo. Prove it and work with me now to bring everyone peace." She asks him, somewhere between broken and begging.

"So that's it?" He asks, sharp. "One of your political moves? You're not even going to tell me you're sorry while you're here?"

She swallows down a sob. "Of course -" She heaves in a breath. "Of course I'm sorry. I'm sorry it came to this. But as long as you plan to put Madi in MCAP and finish what your Shepherd started I don't see what more there is to say."

He nods, eyes cold. "I'm sorry it came to this too."

"So are you with me?" She asks, then winces at her own ill-chosen words.

"Apparently not. But I do want peace."

Is that an agreement to work with her? Is that an alliance, however shaky?

She honestly doesn't know. She hasn't understood Bellamy since he came back from Etherea, and this is no exception.

But she can't bear to stay any longer so she takes her half-answer and leaves.

….

Malachi is rather pleased with his progress.

He's had a message from Knight on Bardo. The Disciples seem inclined to accept the change of regime, if only because there is no other good option. He knows it might not stay as simple as that forever - given time, insurgencies and guerrillas are likely to organise themselves and rebel. It will be interesting, he thinks, to see how long that will take in Sanctum time considering the time dilation. He could have a fully functioning coup rise and fall there in the time it takes him to enjoy an afternoon nap here.

But for now, he's happy with how this game is playing out.

He's even happier when a delegation of Skaikru and their friends present themselves in his throne room. Clarke, Octavia, Echo, Raven. Bellamy, too, which is perhaps a surprise. But Malachi is fairly confident that he has Bellamy on side. The life debt is a strong force, and anyway, Bellamy is a lost lamb in need of a shepherd, just now.

The best thing about this delegation? They look troubled, tired. The shadows under Bellamy's eyes are so deep they look more like bruises. Clarke honestly looks to be on her last legs, shaky and pale. A weak opponent is far easier to control, in Malachi's experience. A scared opponent is far easier to outsmart.

Even Clarke Griffin is not such a genius when she's on the edge of despair, it turns out.

They've come here to argue for a peaceful solution. Clarke leads the charge. Octavia follows up, reminding him of her experience leading Wonkru and posing as a Disciple. Bellamy even joins in, suggesting a peace treaty with Bardo would allow them all to fight the last war together and seek transcendence.

Such a silly little lamb. He wants peace to enable a war? He has not understood, has he? The joy of war is the _victory_. The peace that follows subjugation of all opposition. Malachi is not opposed to peace - rather, he seeks it, although he thrives on war. He wants to rule the human race, and in order to do that, he needs to run out of enemies left to fight.

But he won't be signing any treaties, thank you very much. He will leave Knight to take charge in Bardo until all opposition is exhausted. And meanwhile he himself will continue to expect people to bow to him in Sanctum.

No master plays chess for the sake of shuffling pieces around a board. The point of any game is in the winning.

….

Clarke gets less anxious as the days pass by. That is to say, she finds herself settling back to that level of simmering fear she remembers from the time before Praimfaya, perhaps, or the dropship camp. She's still essentially expecting something to go wrong, but she's not necessarily expecting it to go wrong _today_.

She does her best to get on with life. She keeps going to meet with Sheidheda, keeps fruitlessly encouraging him to try for a peace treaty with Bardo rather than just trampling them. She doesn't try to negotiate with Bellamy again, because frankly she hasn't the stomach for it. She focuses on the small, everyday things - cooking meals for Madi, sending her to the school, sometimes helping Jackson out in the med centre. People still need to eat and learn and heal even when there is a crisis afoot.

She's in the med centre today, winding bandages, concentrating on her task with painstaking care. As long as she's focusing on bandages she isn't thinking about Bellamy or Sheidheda, war or transcendence.

That lasts until Echo knocks on the door.

"Come on in." Clarke says, level. "What can I do for you?"

Echo frowns. "I've just been to see Bellamy. I thought maybe you'd want an update."

She nods carefully. She's a doctor, sometimes. She should want an update. "Sure. How's his shoulder doing?"

"His shoulder's fine. I'm more worried about his head. He's - he's not doing too well, Clarke."

She considers that for a moment. She hates feeling so conflicted about this. She shot him as an enemy just a couple of weeks ago. Yet all the same she's instinctively worried when she hears Echo's words.

"What do you mean?" She asks carefully.

"He's feeling very low. Lonely, too, but I understand you don't feel able to go see him. Honestly I don't think seeing you would help. But he's sick of living alone although he won't even consider moving in with any of us. He's got nothing to do except sit there hating himself all day. He won't go back to Bardo and he won't say why. Do you think he could talk to Jackson? Or could we find something for him to do?"

Clarke nods. "I'll ask Jackson to call on him."

She supposes that's for the best. She knows seeing Jackson will not upset him in the same way that seeing her would. And Jackson has some experience of helping people heal their mental health.

But she wants to do _something_ , damn it. She cannot just sit idly by and let this happen.

The idea comes to her later that evening, as she's sitting in the living room of the farmhouse and sketching quietly. There are a lot of books on the shelves in here, she notices. And she doesn't read much, and nor does Madi.

But Bellamy likes books.

It's probably foolish to rush and take him the book right away. It is undoubtedly silly to creep down the road to the village in the dead of night to leave some battered volume about Roman history on his doorstep.

Silly and foolish though it may be, she does it anyway.

….

The weeks pass, and still Bellamy feels awful. _More_ awful, perhaps. At least in the beginning he had some sense of a calling as a Disciple to keep him going. But the more time passes, the more distant Etherea seems. Now that Doucette and Cadogan are dead there's nothing left to tie him to that experience, it feels like.

He doesn't understand what he's still doing here. Sheidheda insists on keeping him here, despite that deal he tried to make regarding Bellamy as leader of Bardo. And Bellamy doesn't mind that in some ways, because he's beginning to suspect he's ill-qualified to lead Bardo. He's not feeling a whole lot of religious fervour right now, more a sense of overwhelming tearful exhaustion. But he hates being stuck here with nothing to do and no one to speak to, only Echo's loyal visits and Jackson's compassion to keep him going.

The only bright spot in his life? The occasional books that appear on his doorstep. He suspects it's Echo or Jackson sending them, too, but he doesn't call them out on it. He doesn't mention them at all, in fact, because he fears that mentioning them would lead to him admitting that he's too exhausted to read them. He just can't focus on the words, right now. So it is that the best thing about his sorry life is receiving gifts of books he cannot even find the concentration to read. But all the same it makes him pathetically happy to know that someone still cares enough to send him gifts. He's even been known to hug the precious volumes close to his chest before now and pretend he's actually hugging a friend.

He hears a knock at the door, opens it to find Jackson. He welcomes him inside and settles down for their normal session - a combination of checking on his shoulder and chatting about the state of his head.

But this week, things take a slightly different turn. Jackson is feeling brave, it seems.

"I see you've got a pile of books over there." Jackson gestures through Bellamy's open bedroom door.

Bellamy gulps. There's a reason he usually hides his precious books in the bedroom. So maybe he was telling a little white lie earlier, when he admitted to hugging them sometimes. He might have been known to fall asleep hugging a book, once or twice. He's aware that in cases of loneliness it's more conventional to hug a pillow, but he's always been more a book kind of guy.

Until now, that is.

"Yeah, I've got some books." Bellamy concedes, tone level.

"Have you been reading? That could be a good activity." Jackson says softly.

Bellamy shakes his head, jaw clenched tight.

"Bellamy?"

"I can't. I can't do it. I can't concentrate on the words. I'm OK with some of the easier ones, the shorter sentences. But I can't read the big history books."

"That's OK. That's nothing to be concerned about. You've been through a lot." Jackson says, soothing. "How about other hobbies? Things to keep your mind active? Maybe something without words?"

He snorts. "I've never had a lot of hobbies. I helped make clothes with my mum. I cleaned toilets. I served as a guard. None of those are hobbies, are they?"

"Some people sew for a hobby." Jackson suggests easily.

Bellamy blinks. That's true. Some people do sew for a hobby. He's definitely seen Blythe Ann working on her embroidery when the tavern is quiet. And actually, would there be anything so very wrong with sewing for _not_ a hobby again? He could make some useful clothes for the people of Bardo. That might help him feel like he's still serving the cause, even stuck here on Sanctum.

"I guess maybe I could try doing some sewing." He agrees, strangely excited by the idea. It sounds wonderful, in this moment, to have anything positive to do at all.

Jackson nods. The conversation moves on, towards sleep schedules and eating well. Bellamy makes the right noises, and when Jackson is gone he spends a precious twenty minutes darning an old sock. It's slow work, harder than he remembers, but he's proud when he's done.

He wakes up the following morning to a small bundle of calico folded on his doorstep. Of course he does. Somehow, despite everything he's done, there's still someone in this town who loves him.

….

Malachi has to admit he rather likes playing chess with Clarke. It's something they've started doing quite recently, and they seem to have played six games this week.

He knows she's trying to butter him up and change his mind on how to deal with Bardo, but honestly, he relishes their matches too much to care. He even puts up with her complaining about the way he's handling things, sometimes, because she's quite the most worthy opponent he's faced in years.

"I hear there's been more unrest on Bardo." She says today, as she moves a bishop forward.

He hums, not very interested. There has often been unrest on Bardo in the last few weeks - or years, from their point of view. But Knight is now an experienced lieutenant and has been keeping Bardo more or less in line so far. Malachi supposes that perhaps it would be fair to say the unrest is growing worse, but he's not worried, as such. He's pleased he didn't send Bellamy to Bardo after all, at least. He was right to calculate that doing so would put that particular pawn in too much danger, would be a waste of a potentially valuable playing piece.

"You can't just ignore it." Clarke says, now. She's trying to get a rise out of him. She's getting smarter, more tactical, now she's had a chance to live a quieter life for a while.

"I am not _ignoring_ it." He says calmly, taking one of her pawns. "I am dealing with it how I see fit. I'm doing things my way, because I seem to remember I am in charge around here." He says, faintly challenging.

He expects her to rise to that. He expects to see some of her fire, see her arguing that she is something of a leader, too. They've formed an odd sort of working relationship, in recent weeks. He does his thing, she occasionally does her thing so long as it does not interfere with his. And in between, they play chess.

But she does nothing of the kind.

"Fighting doesn't have to be your way." She says softly.

He bristles. "I beg your pardon?"

"Fighting doesn't have to be your way." She repeats, equally calm, looking him right in the eyes. "I know how it feels, to think you're trapped in a cycle of violence. To think that crushing them into submission and wiping them out are your only options. But you can do better than this, Malachi. You can be better than this. You've taken their king, you don't need to take every last pawn."

He swallows. He gets it, now. How she has such influence, how she has claimed power almost by accident time and time and time again. There's something utterly compelling about her. She just has this gift for getting down on his level and making him feel welcomed and valued and understood.

She even used his _name_.

She makes him feel like she's on his side, and that could be dangerous. Because he's not on her side.

Not quite.

….

Bellamy hears about the fighting on Bardo and it makes him sad.

To be fair, everything seems to make him sad at the moment. Everything except those precious little parcels of fabric that keep appearing on his doorstep. But the rumours of fighting between Disciples and Sheidheda's men hurt him most of all. He's supposed to be seeking a solution for all mankind, isn't he?

He seems to remember there was a time when he thought he was supposed to be seeking transcendence. But he's not so sure how he feels about that any more. It just doesn't seem likely to happen. He cannot imagine the human race embracing some warm golden light any time soon.

They seem a bit preoccupied with embracing war.

He wanted a war, once upon a time. A last war. Does he still want that?

Honestly, he just wants to be able to sleep through the night. He's fed up with the nightmares of Etherea, sick of waking up still exhausted and empty each morning.

He sews a few more stitches. He's getting good at sewing again, finding the rhythm of needle and fabric that he knew so well in his youth. He made that first batch of calico into some shirts to give away to the Children of Gabriel. Then there was some checked cotton which was just begging to be shaped into a girlish summer dress, he decided - although goodness only knows who he will give that away to. There are not a lot of children in his life in need of summer dresses, these days. And since then the fabric parcels have been coming thick and fast, and he's now trying to make a few sets of scrubs for the team in med bay.

He's feeling slightly more useful, in short. And that's what makes him feel brave enough to go on an adventure tonight.

He sets aside his sewing, laces up his boots. He's not been wearing his boots a whole lot recently, while he's spent so much time at home. He straightens his robes and walks out the door as confidently as he is able - that is to say, not very confidently at all.

He heads for Echo's quarters. That seems like a safe place to go. She's been entirely decent to him - although evidently still rather hurt by his behaviour. It's an odd paradox of a situation, her loyalty cutting through her frustration with him. But the point is, if he shows up at Echo's, he knows he'll get a polite conversation and a little careful company.

He's right on one count. Echo does welcome him through the door. But then he finds himself in her living room, facing a scene he did not expect. Hope is here, and Octavia, and Niylah, and Raven. They're all sitting around chatting together, and they all fall silent when he enters.

He ought to be trying to think of something to say. A neutral comment about how good it is to see them all happy and well, perhaps. But he doesn't make much progress with any such greeting, because he's stuck on something rather different.

He's wondering where Clarke is. He's wondering why she's not with them.

He's wondering if she's even half as lonely as he is.

He shakes his head. He can't ask that. He swallows, hard, and tries to smile at his sister.

"It's good to see you all." He offers.

No one says it back to him. Octavia nods, then turns pointedly back to her conversation with Hope. Echo points out a chair to him, then heads over to chat with Raven.

No one is more surprised than him that it is Niylah who speaks up.

"I hear you're working on some scrubs for med bay. Thanks for that, Bellamy. We could use them."

He supposes that counts as a warm welcome, when they are more or less on opposite sides of a war.

….

Something needs to change. Clarke has decided it.

She's proud of herself for that, honestly. She can feel her confidence growing again as the nightmare of Bardo slips further behind her. But even as she moves on, she knows that there is still fighting breaking out there between Disciples and Sangedakru. And that's why she decides a change of tactic is needed.

She invites herself to play chess with Malachi for a change. _Sheidheda_. Whatever name he goes by. The point is, she invites herself to his quarters for a match rather than waiting to be summoned. She wants to put herself in the driving seat of this negotiation - but she also thinks it will be useful to her to treat him as a human being and even a friend, rather than a monster. That's what she hopes to achieve by calling on him as if she enjoys his company.

She senses that he gets rather lonely, ruling the human race. She seems to remember she used to feel that way, even if the circumstances of her leadership were rather different.

She's in luck. Malachi fancies a game of chess - he always does, as far as she can tell. She sits in her usual seat, makes the first move.

"We need to talk about Bardo." She says.

"You always want to talk about Bardo." He grumbles, but there is little heat to it.

"I just don't understand why you won't make peace with them. You're not some mindless killing machine. You like board games and ham sandwiches." She points out. He also likes to be reminded he's human, in her experience.

He grins wolfishly. "But I also like victory. The fighting in Bardo will continue until my men have their triumph."

Clarke nods, thoughtful. "Can't you get that triumph some other way? Does it have to be the battlefield? Do we need all this bloodshed? Keep everyone together in friendship under a peace treaty and find your victories in competitive sport." She suggests instead. "They used to do that on Earth before the bombs, big international sports festivals. Or you could host chess tournaments." She suggests, carefully light.

"You're suggesting we fix this by playing soccer?" He asks, trying to sound dismissive and not entirely succeeding.

"I'm suggesting we fix this by seeing each other as human." She corrects him firmly.

"Like you do with Bellamy?" He asks, pointed.

She swallows. "I'm trying. I'm trying to remember he's still human and find some common ground with him again. It's - it's tough. But that's what I'm suggesting we focus on with Bardo, too."

Malachi frowns. But it's a thoughtful frown, more or less, Clarke thinks. And she's played chess with this man quite often enough in recent months to know that the conversation is closed.

….

Malachi finds that he has much to consider, when Clarke leaves.

First and foremost - _is_ he still human? Clarke is the only one who still treats him like a person, he's pretty sure. He respects her for that, more than he remembers ever planning to respect her. Bellamy is polite to him, on the rare occasions they cross paths, as is Indra, but it's not the same.

He thinks a long time about what she said. It's true - he wants victory more than he wants violence. It's just that, in his experience, violence is the path to victory. He thinks it's a bit rich of Clarke to suggest there is an alternative, seeing as she has such a long kill count herself.

And yet, he does enjoy playing chess a hell of a lot more than he enjoys slitting throats.

He's still sitting and thinking on it some hours after Clarke's departure. He ought to go and get on with his day, perhaps. Eat a ham sandwich if nothing else.

But then a messenger bursts into the throne room, frantic and out of breath.

"Commander. Sir. A message from Bardo."

He nods. "Go on, then."

"It's - it's Knight. He's been killed."

Malachi swallows hard. Knight. His brave soldier. His lieutenant on Bardo. The first to support his return to power. The closest thing he has to a friend, perhaps, apart from his new chess partner and sometimes ally.

That convinces him. It makes up his mind where even Clarke's carefully levelled arguments had not quite succeeded, yet.

It looks like he needs to go learn how to write a peace treaty.

….

Bellamy is surprised to be invited to join the peace negotiations. Apparently he is considered a loyal Disciple and a crucial link between Bardo and Sanctum.

Huh. That's news to him.

Anyway, he doesn't argue. It will do him good to be useful for a change, he thinks. There's just one problem, as he dons his robe and sets out for the first day of talks.

He's really not at all sure whose side he's on.

Maybe that's his role, he wonders. To say that there should be no sides. To suggest everyone should set aside their differences and seek common ground for the sake of peace. He swallows hard, coughs a little on nothing but fresh air. That's not the same as transcendence, is it? And it's a hell of a long way from threatening Madi for the sake of starting the last war. He seems to have changed his mind about a thing or two, so gradually he scarcely even noticed it happening.

He's nearly there, now. He's to meet the others from Sanctum at the palace and then they will travel to Bardo together for the talks. He tugs nervously at his cuffs. He made himself a long-sleeved shirt to wear under his robes, because it's colder here than in Bardo, and he's had enough of the cold to last a lifetime. But in this moment it makes him feel anxious to be wearing his homemade garment. Is it up to scratch? It's years since he had his mother's help and direction. Will the other Disciples - the real Disciples of Bardo - think he is behaving somehow incorrectly by wearing clothing that is not standard-issue?

Just as he is starting to spiral, Clarke walks round the corner.

There's an horrendous silence. He hates that sticky silence exists between him and Clarke, now. They used to be able to share anything and everything, and now she can scarcely even bear to greet him. And that sucks, because they haven't seen each other in several days, not even in passing around the village. He'd have thought she might at least be able to summon a reaction to such an unaccustomed meeting - surprise if nothing else.

"Good, you're here." She says, somewhat stiff.

He only nods.

He hears her take a deep breath before she tries again. "Did you make that shirt yourself? It looks great. We really appreciate the scrubs in med bay."

He freezes, jaw tight. It's foolish, but he never realised she knew about his silly little attempt to make a contribution. He should have known, he sees that now. Nothing escapes Clarke's notice.

But from there, he realises something else. He realises that she looks a little too interested, that she's squinting at the fabric on his cuffs with something like recognition. And all at once, in a flash, he understands it. This is _Clarke_. Clarke who was furious at Charlotte, but had her actions speak louder than her words by trying to save her. Clarke who gave him her ration bar in the desert. Clarke who has never been comfortable in talking about her feelings, but shows compassion through her deeds time and time again.

Clarke who's been leaving gifts of cloth on his doorstep.

He swallows, steps closer to her. He needs to say something about this. He can't let it pass unmarked. After everything that has gone so hideously wrong between them, she's still looking out for him in her desperate, messy way. Trying to cheer him up when she must have learnt from Jackson that he's been struggling badly with despair.

"Thanks." He tries simply.

"It's only the truth. They're good scrubs, robust and -"

"No. _Thank you_." He says firmly. "Thanks for thinking of me. Thanks for giving me something to do."

"Oh." She looks away, eyes visibly damp. "You're welcome. Any time. It seemed like the least I could do. I was worried about you."

"It meant a lot." He bites his lip, debates the wisdom of his next words. "But - next time you're worried about me, you could just come and see me."

"I wasn't sure I'd be welcome." She says, careful, trying to disguise the shakiness brought to her voice by tears.

He knows her better than that, he wants to remind her. But he contents himself with a careful smile.

"You would be. I'm not great at staying angry with you, remember?"

Her eyes flicker back over to meet his gaze. "Yeah. Me neither."

"Come on. Let's figure out this peace treaty. Let's find a way to work together." He suggests.

She nods, face pulled tight into a frown.

"And - and I'm sorry about Madi." He says in a rush. "I really am here to make peace. No more last war."

Her frown eases, just a little. "Me too. I'm sorry for shooting you."

"You already said that." He says, and he means it to sound slightly chiding. She really does have a talent for stewing in guilt, this woman.

But to his surprise, she looks at him firmly and repeats her words. "I'm sorry for shooting you. I'm saying it again now because I think you might almost be ready to hear it."

Oh. _Oh_. She's got a point. She's right as usual, he thinks affectionately. His wise leader Clarke. His kind friend Clarke.

His apologetic attempted murderer. _Clarke_.

He pushes that thought aside and follows her into the palace. Today is not a day for revisiting old wounds. Today is a day for wearing his new shirt and making a new beginning.

….

Clarke takes the lead in the peace negotiations.

That's partly by force of instinct, because she's been in situations not unlike this before. But it's largely a deliberate choice, too. She discussed it with Malachi before they started. The Disciples see him as the assailant, and Bellamy as a wronged but faithful Disciple. They don't really see her as much of anything - a woman who might have been useful to Cadogan, once upon a time. She has the appearance of neutrality in the eyes of almost everyone here present.

It's an easy deal to make, in the end. The Disciples are happy to let go of their last war, which surprises her. But it seems that, having spent generations training for war, they found the actuality of combat was not to their taste. Skirmishes with Knight's men taught them that there was little glory to battle, and more messiness. And they've lost Cadogan, and Anders, and Doucette, and most of their hardcore faithful. So it is that they are happy to stop fighting and share the technology of Bardo in return for a compound on Sanctum. They want to trade the hope of transcendence for fresh air, freedom and happiness in this life.

Clarke wonders how Bellamy feels about that. He's not saying much.

She doesn't argue, though. She gets on with drawing up a deal, having all parties seal their oath in both writing and blood. Best be on the safe side and cover every convention, she decides.

And then it's done. The meeting is over. Time to go home.

It's not deliberate that she seeks Bellamy and keeps pace with him as they start walking out of the conference room. It's more instinct than anything - she always used to leave meetings with him, years ago, on Earth.

"Are you happy with the treaty?" She asks him, genuinely curious.

He nods. "Yes. I'm relieved the fighting will be over."

"Good." She swallows. "And - what about transcendence? Does it bother you that the Disciples seem to be swapping their faith for a quiet life on Sanctum?"

He snorts, but it doesn't sound like he's finding the situation humorous. "It bothers me." He says, firm. "Not because I think they're wrong. I don't blame them - I feel much the same way. Peace is more important than winning the last war. But - it makes it all so - so _pointless_." He mutters, hands spread.

"What do you mean?" She asks, sharp and alarmed. "You don't mean - you're not saying _life_ is pointless?"

"Not quite. I mean it makes everything I did pointless. It makes the faith that saved me on Etherea pointless. It makes hurting you and O and Echo, and threatening Madi, and getting shot _completely_ pointless."

"I realised that was pointless the second after I did it." Clarke says sadly. "There were so many Disciples in Sanctum that day. Someone would have given him that damn sketchbook."

To her surprise, Bellamy laughs. It's a hysterical laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless.

"You can say that again, Clarke. We've done some crazy things. But at least most of them made sense at the time."

"It made sense _at the time_. Just not immediately afterwards." She defends herself, tearful.

He looks at her. He just looks, a loaded, heavy look that shoots right to her heart. And then he tilts his mouth up into the slightest of smiles.

"Great. We've both done some pointless, stupid things lately. You know that deal you came to me with just after I got out of med bay? To work together and try to keep the peace? Is that still on the table?"

She nods at once. "Always."

"Good." He nods. They're standing outside the palace, now, and Clarke knows it's time for them to go their separate ways.

But damn it, she doesn't want to go. Not when she's almost starting to recognise her best friend again.

He nods again, briskly, as if closing the conversation. "Well. Thanks for the fabric. I guess - let me know if you have any special commissions, you know? Now I know it's coming from you I probably shouldn't use all of it to make my own selfish shirts."

She snorts. "Make as many shirts as you like, Bellamy. That seems like the least you deserve."

He gives a short, sharp laugh, and then turns to go on his way.

…..

Bellamy goes to see Echo, the moment he leaves the palace.

He suspects that's an overreaction. Having a friendly and oddly bittersweet conversation with Clarke is not a good reason to march straight into his ex-girlfriend's home. But it's either that or go home and weep on his bed hugging his new shirt and seeing whether there's any trace of Clarke's scent on the fabric, and he figures this is less pathetic.

There's that, and there's also the fact that overreactions are kind of his thing.

So, anyway, he knocks on her door and lets himself in when she calls out in welcome. He's not started crying yet, and he's proud of himself for that. He seems to remember he wept less, before Etherea.

He seems to remember he wept less when he knew Clarke's shoulder would be there for him to cry on, if ever he should need it. Funny how he needs it so much more now that it's not there.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Echo asks at once.

Well, then. Apparently he looks as conflicted as he feels.

"Nothing. It's good news." He says, trying to convince himself as much as her. "It's - it's -" He swallows, tries again. "The peace talks went really well. I think it's going to be OK. And - uh - it was good to work with Clarke again."

Echo smiles slightly. She's too good at reading him.

"And? What's she done to upset you this time?"

He hesitates for a moment. She's not done anything to upset him. She's done some things, and he's upset. That's different.

But he doesn't hesitate for long. He desperately needs to get this off his chest.

"She's the one who's been leaving me the gifts of material." He mutters, growing tearful already.

Echo snorts. "Of course she is."

"You knew?" He asks.

"It wasn't hard to figure it out. It was obvious. I knew it wasn't me or your sister. Who else cares about you like that?"

 _It was obvious_. That's it, isn't? Clarke will always be the obvious answer to every question he does not dare to ask.

He's crying in earnest, now. That's hardly a surprise. And Echo is approaching him with a gentle hug and some firm words.

"I won't be used like this anymore, Bellamy. It's not fair to anyone for you to cry on me when you're really upset with Clarke. I didn't mind supporting you in space when you were feeling guilty about leaving her but -"

"What? You've given up on me, too?" He asks, smarting.

She sighs. "No. Perhaps I could have said that more kindly. But - you can't put things right with her by crying on me. She's the most important person in your life, and it's time for you to face it. You dropped everything to save her from Josephine - and that was while you'd left your sister out to die and you left me behind to manage without you. She repaid you by trying to kill you. It makes sense that you're struggling but _please_ talk to her about it."

He snuffles. It's a rather undignified sound, but he's learnt that there's not a lot of dignity in depression, since Etherea.

"Bellamy. You know she'd do almost anything to put things right with you. She didn't leave all those get well gifts on your doorstep by accident, did she?"

 _Get well gifts._ He never allowed himself to think of them like that. Months and months and months of little tokens far more useful for his healing than flowers at any hospital bedside.

He still wishes she had come to see him herself, though. He wishes he had made it clear she'd be welcome.

Echo's right, he realises. Clarke is the most important person in his life, whether he likes it or not. But the scariest realisation in the whole of this challenging day?

He _does_ like that she's the most important person in his life. Come hell or high water, he wants it that way.

….

Malachi isn't hating Unity Day as much as he expected to.

He does hate the fact it's called Unity Day, for the record. Some idea of Clarke's, to reinforce the idea that everyone is coming together. But there's something in the way she quirked her brows as she suggested it that makes him think he's missing a joke, somehow.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. The point is, he has his victory - albeit not in quite the manner he is accustomed to. And so what if he has something of a soft spot for Clarke, these days? Even a tyrant is allowed to have colleagues. Sure, friends are not so much a feature of tyranny. But perhaps advisors or allies or companions.

Sometimes, he has to admit, he is inclined to think of her as a kind of bishop. Capable of being cutthroat, certainly a potential game-changer. And yet his moral compass, too, all at the same time.

Well, now. That's quite enough sentimentality for one day. The point is that this is the day. He, Clarke, Bellamy, and First Disciple Hayden are standing together in the heart of Bardo's oxygen farm to address the assembled crowds and publicly sign the deal. There's a substantial delegation of Wonkru here, too, evidently excited to make new friends.

Malachi might find it heart-warming, if he had much of a heart.

Clarke starts speaking. She's prepared a few words.

"I feel honoured to be presenting this peace treaty to you today." She begins. "This is the start of a new era. A new hope for -"

She breaks off, all at once. Malachi wonders why. He turns to the crowd, sees what Clarke has seen. There's one man, a loner on the edge of the crowd, raising a rifle and aiming it right at her.

Malachi doesn't think twice. He dives straight in front of the bullet headed at Clarke's heart.

….

Bellamy's scared.

He's so damn scared.

He's more frightened than he was when he was bleeding on the stone room floor, and that's saying something. Someone tried to shoot Clarke. That guy aimed a gun at Clarke.

She could have died here.

She could have bled out right in front of his very eyes, before he had the chance to make things right with her. Clarke who left calico on his doorstep because she couldn't think how else to show him she still cared.

He never thought in his life he would be grateful to Sheidheda. But in this moment, as he watches the man - _Malachi_ , he corrects himself - gasp out his last breath, he has never been so grateful in his life.

Does that make him a horrible person? It certainly makes him a hopeless Disciple.

Clarke has given up on attempting to save Malachi, now. She's shaking her head, closing his eyelids gently. Meanwhile a group of Disciples have arrested the one of their own who tried to kill Clarke.

Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief at that. Apparently the peace treaty is still standing. It's like TonDC, he thinks. It's like that time Gustus tried to break the alliance.

As he looks at Clarke's bloodstained hands he realises it's like TonDC in more ways than one. She's had blood on her hands all the days he has loved her, he sometimes thinks. But robes or no robes, he's far from unstained himself.

It's time to put this right. He refuses to run the risk of losing her again. He crosses the couple of yards between them, offers her a hand to help her to her feet. He's going to get nightblood stains all over his robes but frankly he doesn't care.

At least the blood is Malachi's, not Clarke's. And again, he thinks, maybe selfish love is just programmed into his soul.

"We need to talk." He tells her, gentle yet not to be argued with.

She nods, face solemn. "OK. Sure. What do we need to talk about?" She asks, as if he might mean some detail of the peace treaty.

He swallows. "Can we fix this? _Please_? Can we fix us? I could have lost you today. I could have lost you when -" He breaks off into a sob.

Clarke's there. She's reaching out to place a bloody palm tentatively on his arm. He really will have to stop wearing these robes after this mess, he suspects.

Good riddance to them.

"There's nothing I want more than to fix this." She tells him fervently. "But it doesn't feel right for me to ask for that, after I shot you. I have no right to ask it."

He doesn't answer that. Not quite. Instead he lays his hand over hers and takes the conversation in a slightly different direction.

"I never said sorry for trying to hand you over to Pike." He muses quietly. "So - sorry about that."

She doesn't pretend to misunderstand him. She keeps up with his train of thought, his jump from one betrayal to another. "I forgive you." She says easily.

"Remember the road to TonDC?" He asks. "I asked you how you were doing and you said you couldn't lose me? Nothing's changed, Clarke." He promises her, voice raw and somehow rusty. "I know sometimes it feels like _everything_ has changed. You have a kid and my sister is all grown up and we - we're worlds away. But that hasn't changed. What we said that day. I still want you to be OK." He swallows, gathers his courage. "And I get the feeling you still need me?"

She nods, urgent, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Great. So - so let's fix this. But next time you're not OK, next time you're struggling, please will you just trust me and tell me before you do something extreme?"

She nods again, crying ever harder. He stands there and watches her weep, wondering whether she's done talking or whether there are more words still to come.

At length, she speaks. Just one brief, broken whisper.

"Bellamy? I'm not OK."

That's it. That's the moment he knows they will fix this, sooner or later. Because that's the first step on the road to honesty and working together, the way he sees it. The road to TonDC, not the long way home from Etherea.

He shrugs his arm out from under her palm and pulls her in for a tight hug, instead. He's crying in earnest as well, and he wonders when that happened. Maybe he's been weeping since she almost got shot - or perhaps these tears are still leftover from the day she shot him.

"You'll be alright." He promises, a whisper into her hair. He'll make sure of it.

"You, too." She tells him without missing a beat. "We'll find you some more shirts to sew."

He laughs slightly at that, buries his face more deeply into her neck. He's certainly going to need to make himself a new outfit after everything his robe has been through today.

They stop hugging eventually. There's a peace treaty to sign. It seems even more important, now, to carry on with the day as planned for the sake of moving forward and marking Malachi's sacrifice. Bellamy just hopes there will be no more sacrifices after this one. He's sick and tired of people giving up their lives.

Bellamy and Clarke stand side-by-side to sign the sheet before them. That's how it should be, he thinks.

….

Malachi is confused, as the shadows give way to golden light. He does not belong in golden light, he's pretty sure. _Master of the shadows_ , remember?

It's peaceful here. Warm. But not featureless and devoid of tone or shape like he has heard the Disciples say of transcendence. There's something beneath his feet, so he supposes that must be the ground. There's something above his head, so he decides he will call it sky.

There's the faintest echo of some voices he recognises from the flame, too.

There's Madi telling him _thank you_ , and he smiles a little at that - or at least, he would if he still had lips. He doesn't need her gratitude - although it's sweet to have it - because he's happy with the choice he has made. He played a lot of chess, in life, and he knows sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn to save the queen.

And then there's the biggest surprise of all.

There's the voice of Lexa kom Trikru, telling him his fight is over.

….

Clarke and Bellamy fix their relationship slowly. They start by going back to the last time they agree it worked in an uncomplicated way, sort of resetting from there. So that's why they spend so much time sitting and sharing drinks together at the tavern in memory of the makeshift bar at Camp Jaha.

Clarke loves it. She lives for these evenings when they learn how to laugh together. Madi usually spends the time with Gaia, and Clarke likes that, too. She loves her daughter, and she loves living with her, and she loves spending time in her company. But it is lovely to take an evening to herself every few days, to focus on her own happiness and her relationship with someone who is not Madi. Her life and her very definition as a person have revolved around her daughter since Praimfaya, and that's only natural. All the same she thinks it is good to find some balance in her life, now. She does not need to be a martyr to be a good mother - or at least, she hopes that's true.

These evening drinks are a deliberate attempt to get to know one another again. They don't expect the conversation to flow naturally, and nor do they beat themselves up about any awkward silences. And often, they make a point of asking absurd questions and sharing the kind of trivial personal details they never got chance to learn about each other back on Earth.

"So which Roman would you invite to a dinner party?" Clarke asks tonight. "Augustus, right?"

Bellamy laughs. "I don't know. I loved learning about him as a kid but these days I think he doesn't sound like such a great guy. I've lost my taste for tyrants."

"You don't think he was a benevolent dictator?"

"I think he wanted to look like one. Reminds me of another guy I once followed." He says darkly.

Clarke smiles gently at him. She didn't mean for this to get serious. But perhaps it's only natural that so many conversations find them back here, with Cadogan and regrets and apologies. It's a big part of their story - they're hardly going to suddenly forget that chapter.

"It's OK. We're moving on now, _Councillor Blake_." She says with careful emphasis. They're both serving on the recently elected council, and it's good to be working together again.

He nods. He takes a gulp of his drink. And then he asks her a totally frivolous question about her preference for Jo juice or moonshine.

That's how they operate, the two of them. They stick together through both the jokes and the tears.

….

Bellamy really ought to do something with that robe.

It's been sitting slung over the back of his couch, taunting him, since he washed it the day after Unity Day. He can't wear it any more because it's so stained - in all honesty, he doesn't think he would want to wear it ever again, anyway. But he thinks he might be able to salvage some of the unstained parts to sew something new. He shouldn't let the fabric go to waste and besides that, he figures that making something good out of the stained robe might be a way to respect Malachi's sacrifice. It's not as if he suddenly adores the dead tyrant and wants to name his firstborn after him, or anything. But he needs some way of marking what he did to save Clarke.

To be fair, he supposes he won't be naming his first born _anything_ if he can't make a little more progress at putting things right with Clarke. He's hardly likely to have a family with anyone else, is he?

He stops fretting about the robe and dresses himself in a clean shirt instead. He needs to stop procrastinating and get out the door. He's supposed to be heading to his first social event since renouncing transcendence - or at least, his first social event any bigger than getting a drink with Clarke. Murphy and Emori are hosting a small gathering in celebration of Emori's pregnancy, and Bellamy has to admit he was really pleased to be invited.

Or perhaps more than _pleased_. Maybe moved.

But all the same, he's feeling nervous. He's not managed to spend a friendly evening with these people in months - almost a year for him, now, considering the months he spent on Etherea. What if he's forgotten how to laugh in company? What if he tries to talk and nobody wants to listen? What if -?

His less-than-productive train of thought is interrupted by a knock at the door. Surprised - and a little confused - he goes to open it.

Clarke is standing there, biting her lip.

"Clarke?" He asks, rather foolishly. Obviously she is Clarke. He can recognise the love of his life by now, thank you very much.

"Hey. Are you about ready to go?" She asks, smiling tentatively.

Oh. _Oh_. Is walking to parties together a thing they do now? As if they were attending as a couple, perhaps? Is he going to get to stride down the streets of Sanctum hand-in-hand with her?

No, he's maybe jumping ahead there.

"Yeah. Just let me grab a jacket." He made himself one out of a pile of furs she gave him, and he likes to think it turned out pretty well.

She nods, waits patiently on the doorstep while he throws the jacket around his shoulders. Is she staring? No, that's probably his imagination. Or maybe she's just seeing what he managed to make out of her gift.

He swallows, tries to think of something to say. "I wasn't expecting you. I wasn't sure you'd be coming tonight at all, if I'm honest. I thought you might be staying home with Madi."

"She's spending the evening with Indra. They both insisted." Clarke says fondly. "Something about our generation getting chance to have fun. I didn't want to let them down."

He laughs a little, takes joy in her warm smile.

"So I thought I'd come walk with you." She continues. "Hope that's OK. I wondered whether you might want some moral support or whatever."

He nods, swallows thickly. "Yeah. I swear going to parties used to feel easier than this."

She's still smiling at him, but it's softer now, somehow. Less _in-his-face happy_ and more understanding.

"We'll figure it out again." She says. Just that. As if this is a shared problem, a _them_ problem, not just a Bellamy problem.

He likes the sound of that.

"Thanks." He takes a deep breath, considers his words. "I've spent a lot more time with you recently than with any of them. I hope it's OK if - ah - you know, if I'm a bit clingy."

She reaches out to squeeze his hand. "It's fine. I'm sure you'll have a good time. But if it's getting too much for you any time, you know you can come find me. We can even get out of there if you need to."

He nods. She hasn't let go of his hand, yet, so he tightens his grip on her fingers. He has a feeling parties might be more fun if he has Clarke's hand to hold onto.

It does turn out to be fun, in the end. Emori is great, glowing with her good news, but also warm and supportive to him as she has always tried to be. Murphy jokes sarcastically with him, slaps him on the back once or twice, and he knows that counts as friendship. Echo gives him a warm hug, nods approvingly when he says he walked here with Clarke. And everyone else is cheerful, more or less. Sure, there are plenty of moments when it feels a little overwhelming. When the conversation is moving too quickly for him, everyone talking at once, and he cannot keep track of what's going on.

He wonders whether Clarke felt this way, when they fell from the sky and back into her life after Praimfaya.

But it's good, more or less. Half way to fun at least. There's company, and warmth, and laughter.

He tries kissing Clarke, towards the end of the night. It's actually really good - much better than he expected. After all the drama it took them to get this far he expected their first kiss to be as bittersweet as the rest of their relationship.

But it's just sweet.

It's sweet like he never dared to hope they could be, warm and gentle and - dare he say it - _loving_.

He can't stop grinning when they pull apart. He can't believe it's finally happened, that he's summoned the courage and she's set aside her guilt far enough to let them have this moment.

"That was incredible." He breathes, frightened to break the spell.

She says nothing. She just nods, slightly breathless, stunned into silence.

That has him grinning even wider. He never thought he'd see Clarke lost for words.

"Can I walk you home?" He asks, hoarse and hopeful.

She's still silent. But she's nodding, now, and reaching out to clasp his hand tightly. She's clinging to his side, smiling up at him, as they walk together out into the night.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he thinks. The two of them walking side by side, together, and Clarke's bright smile chasing away the shadows.

….

Clarke is happier than she deserves to be, in the weeks and months that follow. But strangely, she's OK with that. She's accepted that happiness and forgiveness and love are not about what you deserve - or at least, she's in the process of accepting it. She's trying to take what to heart what she said to Raven on Nakara about not believing in karma. She's just going to do her best and try to embrace happiness if it comes her way.

She's happiest of all when she has Madi on one side of her and Bellamy on the other. That happens increasingly often, these days, the three of them sharing the couch together when Bellamy comes over almost every evening. Frankly she's not sure why he still has his own apartment. She's wondering about asking him to move in, sooner or later, but she's not quite sure they're ready for that. There's a big difference, she knows, between him feeling comfortable enough to share her bed every night and him feeling ready to have no other bed of his own. No other place that is just his, and he could flee back to, if he wanted or needed it.

"Will you two cut it out?" Madi pipes up, interrupting Clarke's thoughts.

"What do you mean?" Clarke asks her daughter, frowning.

"I can see you sneaking looks at each other. You're like a pair of teenagers. Honestly, I know you're sleeping together, you don't need to pretend there's nothing going on." Madi insists.

Clarke splutters on a cough. To her surprise - and joy - Bellamy simply laughs out loud.

"You're growing up fast, kid." Bellamy comments lightly.

Madi glows a little at his notice. She just wants a dad, Clarke muses sadly. Maybe one of these days, at this rate, she might have one. But Clarke knows that there is no sense in pushing too fast for some kind of happy family they are not quite ready for yet.

"We're not trying to hide anything. We're just not good at dating." Clarke admits ruefully.

"We're great at it." Bellamy argues with spirit, reaching out to pat Clarke consolingly on the shoulder.

As if one clumsy shoulder pat is going to disprove that comment, she thinks. If anything, he is only demonstrating that they really are inept at this.

"You're doing fine." Madi says bracingly. "You go to parties together, you hang out at the tavern. You kiss in the kitchen all the time when you think I'm not looking. And you seem pretty great at having sex quietly."

Clarke splutters again, but this time she's more laughing than coughing.

"There's more to being great at dating than that." Bellamy says mildly. "We talk about the important stuff. We hug if one of us is having a bad day. We - we do our best to put each other first. That's what's really important, Madi. When you're old enough to start dating I hope you'll remember those things matter more than kissing in the kitchen."

Madi nods, eyes solemn, considering Bellamy's words. But Clarke is looking away from her, catching Bellamy's gaze and giving him a warm smile. She suspects her heart is in her eyes, right now, but that doesn't seem to matter. Because she's pretty certain she can see the love in his expression, too.

Still smiling, she watches him turn back to his sewing. She turns back to her sketching. Madi gets back to glancing between the two of them with a gleeful expression.

It's probably the best evening of Clarke's life. And the really awesome part? She gets to have one just like it, night after night after night.

….

It's Clarke who says it first. Bellamy is more than a little surprised by that. He always thought he was more the heart-on-the-sleeve type, that he would be the first one to confess out of the two of them. Even in those lonely days he spent weeping uselessly in his apartment, even when it seemed impossible that they could actually get this far, he suspected he would say it first if by some miracle they did.

But he's wrong.

They're just sitting on her couch together. Madi is long since asleep. Bellamy is sewing, Clarke is sketching, and they're not quite hugging but not entirely keeping their arms to themselves, either.

And then she just comes out and says it.

"I love you." She tells him.

"Clarke -"

"I love you." She repeats, before he has chance to say the words in turn. "It's different from the way I love Madi. I love her more… instinctively. Compulsively. She's my daughter, and I _have_ to love her. But I _choose_ to love you. Out of all the people I've known, in all my years, on all these planets, it's you. You're the person I look at and think - _this one._ This is the one I want to keep chasing after."

He swallows down tears - good tears, more or less. "This one is worth persevering with?" He asks, trying for a teasing tone.

"Yeah. Something like that." She agrees, with a sheepish smile.

He smiles softly in turn. "I love you too, you know. Not because I choose you, but because I _want_ you. Loving you is the one and only time in my life I've ever let myself go after what I want for myself, I think."

She nods encouragingly.

He takes a deep breath. "It's just as well you love me. This - uh - this is for you, you know." He says, giving a nervous ruffle of the fabric lying pooled in his lap.

"What do you mean?" She asks, frowning at it, as if this is to be another sweet summer dress like the checked one he gifted to Madi last month.

"It's my old Disciple robe. I'm repurposing it. Thought it might make a good wedding dress." He mutters, suddenly terrified. Has he got this wrong? Is he supposed to wait longer between the confession and the proposal?

He dares to look up. Clarke is gaping at him, jaw hanging wide, eyes filled with light but also with tears.

"Is that a good reaction?" He forces himself to ask.

She nods urgently. "Yes. Yes - I - you mean it?"

He laughs, nodding in turn. Maybe he ought to tidy this up - and he's not talking about the loose threads on his latest sewing project.

"Yeah. I really mean it. Will you marry me?"

"Yes. There's nothing in this life I want more."

….

Clarke is proud to be getting married in a dress stitched from Disciple robes. She's proud to be marrying a make-do-and-mend kind of a man, who has the compassion and determination to fix relationships, as well as stained garments. Most of all, on this fateful day, she's proud of herself. Proud that she has learnt how to make peace with those she loves but has hurt, proud that she has found the courage to see to her own happiness as well as the fate of the human race.

The dress is ideal, too, because of Malachi. It seems the perfect tribute to that troubled, troublesome man, she thinks. That enemy she considered a friend only when he gave his life for hers and for the sake of the peace he had so long opposed.

It's set to be quite a traditional kind of wedding. Gaia will lead the ceremony. Bellamy will be standing at the front of the palace throne room with Indra. They chose the throne room partly because it seems fitting for a ceremony, and partly because it seems appropriate for _this_ ceremony in particular. What better way to move on, once and for all, from what Clarke did here last winter?

As for Bellamy choosing Indra to stand up with him? Honestly, Clarke has no idea. She was expecting him to choose his sister or perhaps Echo or Miller. But she supposes it's because Indra is the closest to a parental figure any of them has left, and he's missing his mother today. When she asked him about it, Bellamy only muttered something about _a story to tell our children's children_. And Clarke chose not to push it, then, too busy flushing joyfully at the thought that Bellamy might want them to give Madi younger brothers and sisters, one day.

And Clarke herself? She wondered about choosing no bridal party at all. She's had to become a bit of a loner in many ways - solitary confinement, then Praimfaya with Madi. She seriously considered embracing that and walking to her wedding day proud to stand alone. She was worried about who she would ask, if she had to choose one attendant - she has a whole bunch of friends, people like Raven and Octavia and Jackson and Miller and Niylah, but she was convinced none of them would consider her their _best_ friend.

She still remembers the night she discussed this with Bellamy. She said that, and he laughed, and said that obviously they were not her best friends. _He_ is her best friend, and no one else could be.

So, long story short, she ended up asking all of them. She's got eleven bridesmaids and bridesmen queued up behind her. It feels a little ridiculous, really - but a lot heartwarming at the same time.

"You ready to go?" Octavia asks Clarke, now, gesturing to the open door of the throne room. "Ready to make my brother the happiest guy alive?"

Clarke nods firmly. She cannot skulk here in a dimly lit hallway forever. She knows she needs to get out there and say her vows.

But she's nervous, damn it. Foolish though it is, her heart is racing because she cannot quite believe this is happening. She cannot comprehend that she is allowed this kind of joy.

She steps forward. Octavia's right behind her, she knows. And then Raven and Echo and Hope, Jackson and Miller and Gabriel and all the rest. They've got her back, and they're here to help her out, today, just as she has taken care of them a hundred times.

She hesitates on the threshold of the throne room, just for a second. Just to take stock, just to shake herself and check she's not dreaming.

She pauses until Bellamy looks up and sees her there. He leans towards her, even from such great distance, and smiles at her, warm and bright and true. And all at once she's smiling back at him, taking that all-important first pace down the aisle.

It's time to step out of the shadows and into the light.


End file.
